A Morning Walk Through Rafah

The sun rose hesitantly this morning, casting long shadows across the rubble. Walking through the familiar paths of Rafah camp, now scarred and altered, brings a mix of sorrow and determination. Children were playing near a makeshift tent, their laughter a fragile melody against the backdrop of uncertainty.

We shared stories over weak tea, huddled together. Hope is a currency we trade in whispers and glances. Every shared meal, every repaired shelter, is an act of defiance against despair. The spirit of the community endures, woven into the fabric of our daily struggles.

Despite everything, the smell of baking bread from a neighbour's makeshift oven reminds me of normalcy, of the life we are fighting to preserve. We hold onto these small moments, these anchors in the storm.